


Tales from Kirkwall

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly



Series: Marked and Branded [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Romance, Self-Hatred, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9600668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly/pseuds/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly
Summary: Tale from Echo Harper's time in Kirkwall, and how Hawke and his companions helped shape her into the person she is today, and how her life touched theirs.*Timeline: Pre-Marked





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age in any way or form. This is for amusement purposes only. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Story Summary: Tales from Kirkwall about Echo Harper’s time there, and how her life touched Hawke and his companions. 
> 
> Chapter Summary: Isabella had been determined to take Echo Harper out for a night drinking and debauchery—and annoying Fenris, of course—that was supposed to end with a hangover tomorrow. However, the three trio find themselves unwittingly stumbling upon innocents lives in danger and if they don’t act fast all the night will end is in blood and death.
> 
> Pairing: Hawke/Fenris
> 
> (Timeline--Set before “MARKED”) 
> 
> Author’s Note: The chapter “Such Fragile Things” is inspired by the songs: “Breakdown” by Breaking Benjamin, “Fury Oh Fury” by Nico Vega, “Far From Home” by Five Finger Death Punch 
> 
> These are one-shots or snippets about Echo, or from her perspective set when she was in Kirkwall.

Tales from Kirkwall

 

By ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

* * *

SUCH FRAGILE THINGS

There was nothing surprising about Isabella stealing Echo from Hawke’s mansion for a night of drinking and debauchery. The only thing surprising was that it had taken her _so long_ to accomplish it. For three months ever since the mysterious little elf had found her way into Hawke’s life, Isabella had been salivating with curiosity. It didn’t hurt that the pretty elf was easy on the eyes, and speaking of eyes, the Riviani had never seen eyes quite like Echo’s. One stormy blue, and the other jade green. 

Needless to say, Hawke did not approve. Which only piqued Isabella’s interest because Hawke usually loved trouble, but the noble mage was extra cautious when it came to Echo. The pirate imagined that it was because the younger woman reminded him of his sister Bethany, and she was incredible vulnerable in this dog eat dog world. With the barest understanding of Common thanks to Varric, Echo Harper knew next to nothing about the world. Everything seemed to puzzle her from the clothing to people’s mannerism. Her own pointy ears seemed to fascinate her for the pirate had caught the elf looking in the mirror many times, tracing a fingertip across them with a deep frown. 

Hawke may love trouble, but he was hero to his core. He couldn’t leave such a damsel in distress, especially considering her mysterious circumstances. Nor could he take her into the heart of the seedier parts of Kirkwall without having a minor stroke. 

Isabella wasn’t going to jump on the ancient elf bandwagon that Merrill had hitched up and rearing to go, but she had to admit there was something different about Echo. First off, she held herself in a manner unlike any elf she had met. Not the free spirit like Merrill who had grown up in the woods without human repression to cripple her. Not the hard won defiance in which Fenris held himself where he held his chin high and dared a human to call him ‘knife-ear’. 

Echo moved without _fear_. She walked with her head up, and shoulders back through a crowd like a noble. Her pale complexion and the barest trace of calluses on her palms even supported such a notion. She had no reason to lower her head, or to cringe back from humans because she hadn’t grown up thinking she was less. She had grown up in a place where she was taught that everyone was equal, and that no man was greater than the other. 

Such was not the way in Thedas with it’s distorted hierarchy that placed elves upon the lower end, scarcely above mages. Well, in some places elves were treated even worse than mages. Part of the pirate did agree with Hawke though. She needed an eye on her to help guide her, but keeping her locked up tight in his mansion was doing her no favors. How was she supposed to adjust to the world if she was locked away from it? 

That’s why Isabella considered it her civic duty to help the poor, sweet thing. After being shot down multiple times by Hawke to take Echo out for a night on the town, Isabella hatched the most daring scheme. She declined Hawke’s invitation to go with them on a mission to the Sundermount. She said as fun as that sounded she didn’t really want to spend two days caught between Anders and Merrill snipping at each other if it didn’t involved some great hate sex so that Isabella could admire the view. She almost cackled at the twin looks of disgust that Merrill and Anders sent her at that; it would be a treasured memory. So Varric went in her stead which made her plan all that more easy since the dwarf was a mother hen in training. Though she’d never say that to his face. As much as she admired Bianca, she did not want to get so acquainted with a bolt to her face. 

So after she was sure that Daddy Hawke and Mother Hen Varric was well off into their journey, and away from Kirkwall, she snuck into the house. She knew that Echo did not sleep well, and was often up in the library trying to read the books the best she could. Echo could read Common better than she could speak it, and books were often a solace for the elf. The pirate didn’t sneak, allowing her footfalls to be heard, because there was no reason to scare the poor dear. “So what are you reading, sweet thing? Something naughty?” Isabella purred, when Echo’s eyes met hers. 

“Hello, Isabella,” Echo smiled, greeting her with a warmth that the pirate wasn’t used to. The elf didn’t need to know common to know that Isabella was a bit reckless and on the wrong side of the law, yet Echo didn’t treat Isabella any different than she treated anyone else. It was another thing the pirate absolutely found fascinating. “How you?” 

“Oh, I’m perfect, darling,” Isabella smirked, and sauntered up to the chair in which the elf sat. Sitting down on the arm of the chair, she balanced herself. “What are you up reading at this hour? Ah, Varric’s book. I see he has given you a sneak peek. Is it any good?” 

“Yes,” Echo replied. The words came out slow, like she was feeling the taste of words. “It’s much good.” 

“His criminal series is usually pretty good,” Isabella commented, running her fingers along the spine of the book. “Have you read any of his romance novels?” 

The pink on Echo’s cheeks was all the answer Isabella needed, and the pirate threw her head backwards with a laugh. “Oh, you are blushing. That is so darling. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Isabella said, with great amusement. Her brown eyes smolder as she leaned forward. “You know, I could tell you sordid tales that would make those pale in comparison, if you are interested. If you want, I could make it more of it as a show and tell.” 

Echo’s mouth dropped, her face going from pink to beet red in a split second when she comprehended Isabella’s offer. “I-I…” She stuttered, rubbing the side of her face. “N-not today?” 

“Oooh, so there’s a possibility tomorrow then?” Isabella arched an eyebrow. When Echo was sufficiently flustered, Isabella finally had mercy on the other woman. “I’m just teasing, sweetheart. Though if you do change your mind, I’m always at the Hanged Man when I’m not off with Hawke.” 

Echo faltered, trying to find a good reply. “Alright?” 

“Good. Now, I am bored. It’s been a boring night,” Isabella said, briskly moving onto why she was here. “So you and I are going to liven it up. We are going on an adventure.” 

Echo’s brows drew together. “Isabella, I not leave house. Hawke be mad,” she said, her tone hesitant. However, there was a confliction in those mismatched eyes that could not be hidden. 

“What Hawke doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” Isabella said, as if that solved the matter. She stole the book from Echo’s hand, closing it and setting it down on the table. “Now, come on. Get your shoes, and let’s get out of here before Hawke’s mother wakes to find you out of bed.” 

* * *

This was not a good idea. Echo was certain of it, but she could not hide the smile as the cold night air pressed against her face in greeting. She understood why Hawke was cautious, and she appreciated all he did for her. Yet she hated feeling like she was stuck in a cage. Surely, one night of freedom, wouldn’t be so bad? 

“We could go the Blooming Rose,” Isabella suggested, on a purr. “The company found there more than makes up for the questionable stew, and flavorless wines.” 

Echo paused, shooting a glance at the back of Isabella’s head. “The Blooming Rose? The…brothel?” She said, the word foreign on her tongue. 

“Yes, though don’t use that term when there,” Isabella warned, with a slight smirk. “The _ladies_ of the night get all offended. The gents, too. I don’t see why. Hiding behind fancy words, and silk sheets don’t make it any less of a whore house. If it is what it is then own it is why I say.” 

“How…proactive,” Echo commented, with a thoughtful furrow to her brow. Their footfalls echoed against the stone as they passed underneath the shadow of the great stone which the Chantry Board was placed. A tremble of excitement moved across her skin, despite the worries that swirled in her stomach. 

Isabella laughed. “Life is too short to sit around pretending to be something you aren’t. If you are a bitch, be a bitch. If you are a saint, be a saint. Don’t be a bitch trying to a saint. As long as you know who and what you are, and own it then it can never be used against you,” the pirate said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. The two of them made there was through High town with relative easy. Hawke had done away with the gang that had set up here, and another had yet to fill the void. “Take me for explain. I never claim to have an honest bone in my body. If I did than people would expect it of me, and they would be sorely disappointed because at my core I’m a thief, a liar, and most of all a pirate. Makes things messy if you turn out to be something other than what people expect.” 

“I thought you like messy?” Echo asked, . There was a weird sort of sense to Isabella’s logic, from what Echo could make out of her speech. 

“Ha! So I do, but only when it comes to fighting and sex,” Isabella said, with an over exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. “That’s the only sort of mess worth soiling yourself for. Anything else is usually like pulling teeth, or something along those lines.” A frown settled over her face, and she tapped her fingertips against the piercing she had just below her bottom lip. “Hmm, so no Blooming Rose. What else is there to do?” 

“Hanged Man?” Echo suggested. 

Isabella shook her head. “We can’t go to the Hanged Man. Too many eyes and ears that would go to Varric with wagging tongues the second he returns,” Isabella sighed, heavily. “That’ll land us in hot water faster than a blood mage doing the remmingold on the Knight Commander’s desk.” 

Echo snorted, her chest shuddered with repressed laughter, and her eyes glittered with amusement. “Like to see that,” she said, with a chuckle between words. 

“So would I,” Isabella said, with a half smile before her face smoothed out into a light frown. “I can barely think of another place to go that would be any amusement other than the brothel, and the Hanged Man. Huh, other than those two places I can’t think of another suitable place of entertainment. I suppose death and blood is how Kirkwall gets it’s jollies off.” 

Echo’s brows furrowed. “We go home then?” 

Isabella gave her a big smile. “Oh, no, darling. Since we have no place to go to get enjoyment, we have the next best thing.” 

“And that is?” Echo asked, hesitantly. 

“We go find our own entertainment,” Isabella said, with a wicked sparkle in her dark honey gaze. 

“Isabella, what do you think you are doing?” A deep, rough voice sliced through the lightheartedness like a sharpened blade cut clean through an enemy. Immediately, a heavy tension sprung to life in the air, and Echo turned around to face the owner of that voice. 

Fenris was a striking elf, and to anyone who claimed otherwise, was clearly blind or jealous. Hair as silver as moonlight that hung down into a burning emerald gaze, the handsome planes of his angular face were taunt with displeasure. His markings seems to flicker with light for a brief moment, and he stepped further out of the shadows towards them. His armor was made to inspire terror, making him look like a messenger of death. 

“I knew I had a little shadow,” Isabella faced Fenris’s darken expression with a saccharine smile, as if completely undaunted by him. “You glowed a little bit back. Gave yourself away.” 

“Do not try to use humor to see your way out of this, Isabella,” Fenris growled, the sight of his sharp canines made Echo’s heart lurch. “What are you doing dragging her around with you at this time of night? Especially with Hawke gone?” His green eyes met, and held Echo’s wide ones for a long heartbeat. Whatever he saw there made his lips thin out, and jaw tightened. 

“Oh, not you, too,” Isabella huffed, hands on her hips. “What is it with you men wanting to lock this one up in a tower, and throw away the key? Is she wearing a fluffy dress? Does she look like a princess?” Her brow furrowed slightly, and she tossed a speculative look of her shoulder at Echo. “Well, maybe she does have that doe eyed damsel look about her, but that is not excuse to keep her hidden away.” 

“Damsel look?” Echo said, with a look that conveyed how much she did not like the description. It did little other than make the pirate chuckle with amusement. 

“She is not trained to handle danger, Isabella,” Fenris growled, his eyes turned away from Echo to the pirate. “And anywhere you go there is danger.” 

“Well, we are going to go have fun and live a little,” Isabella sniffed, giving him a haughty look. “If you are so concerned about our safety then I suppose you’ll just have to tag along, now won’t you?” With that the pirate spun on her heel, her hand linked through Echo’s and she practically dragged the female elf after her. 

Fenris stared at them, grumbling underneath his breath. Indecision filled him, and bitterness as well, but after a heartbeat, he stomped after him. He could, at least, see that the girl was kept safe. For Hawke, if nothing else. 

Echo wasn’t sure how she felt about Fenris following them. His hatred for mages well known and she swallowed down the apprehension that built in the back of her throat. She heard what he was able to do, and had no desire to have her heart ripped out. Her mana knotted and coiled in her chest, brought forth by her fear and she fought to keep her breaths even. She didn’t think Fenris would do anything to her. She really believed in her heart that he wouldn’t attack her unless he truly thought her at threat, but that didn’t soothe the fear. Especially since lately any time she entered a room, his expression would grow frosty at her presence, even more so than normal if such a thing was possible. 

A noise pulled Echo from her thoughts. “Did you hear that?” Echo asked, stopping so abruptly that Fenris literally walked right into her. She stumbled forward slightly, and shot him a look, a complaint on her lips when her ears caught the noise again. It sounded like a conversation, but there was something beneath the distant words. A whimpering that made her heart clench inside of her chest. “You hear that?” 

“Yes,” Fenris said, frowning deeply. 

“Well, it must be something only elfy ears can pick up because my human ones hear nothing,” Isabella said, her hands twitched at her side. Her eyes peered at the silent streets around them, ready for a fight. 

This time no whimper came, but a full fledge scream blasted through the silence. “This way!” Echo took off without a second thought, her feet slapping noisily against the stone beneath them. 

“Echo!” 

“Echo!” 

The two shouts came from behind her, and a harsh Tevinter curses before she heard rushed feet follow after. However, she didn’t slow her pace. That scream had been a _child’s._ She was absolutely sure of it, and as she came around the corner of a dirty alley, she saw a sight that sickened her to the depths of her soul. Two men stood with a smile, laughing and joking as if they did not have a terrified elven girl who looked no older than ten year old standing between them. One of them had a fist in her hair so tight that it left tears streaking down her face, and behind her just barely out of Echo’s line of sight was a metal cage meant for a dog where a sobbing seven year old boy was curled up, face buried in his knees. 

“This one could have many good uses, whether as a servant or a plaything.” The slaver was a weasel of a man. Tall, lanky with ill-fitting armor. He had a crooked noise that had been broken more than once, and yellow rotted teeth. “I’d say she’s about worth a hundred and fifty in gold. If you want the boy, too, it’ll been two-fifty for both.” 

“A reasonable price,” the buyer said, having no problem with what was happening. He was a short and pudgy, balding man with cheeks rosy from too many drinks. 

For a whole moment, the world ceased to move for Echo. It felt like someone had hit the pause button, and it took her mind a moment to catch up with what she was seeing unfold in front of her. But when it did…when it did a burning, black hatred pooled in the depths of her soul, her magic clawing at her skin to be released and she felt the air shift around her, greedily tugging at her as it wanted nothing more than for her to lose control. “Stop! Stop it!” The harsh scream was torn up from her throat, and she took several steps forward, determined to get the children away from the sick bastards. 

The buyer jumped, his bloodshot eyes went wide. “I told you! I told you we should have hurried!” He hissed, sniveling cowardly at being caught. 

“It’s just a single elf! What can she do? If anything we just got ourselves a new piece of merchandise,” the slaver cackled, undeterred. His lecherous eyes swept from Echo top to bottom, and he licked his lips. “Oh, yes, we could have some fun with this one. Look at that tight body. Firm tits, ass someone could break a nut on!” 

Echo snarled, revulsion twisted in her gut and she glared venomously at them. There were the scum of the earth, and honestly, it would be a public service to get rid of them. She would burn them to ashes before they laid a hand on her, or the children. She could feel the heat stretch across her skin. The hint of smoke already tickled at her nose, but she never got the chance to cast anything. The buyer encouraged by the slaver’s reassurance chuckled. “And those eyes? Never seen eyes like that before. Bet those pretty little eyes will fill up with tears as she chokes on my-” 

“Chokes on your what, you filth?” Fenris’s enraged voice came from behind her, and she felt the power pool of his lyrium brands like a haunting and broken song. The look on his face was danger and beauty mixed, with a forbidding glare in his eyes and a snarl on his lips. He stepped past her without a glance, and towards the slavers with his sword drawn, and his brands glowing white hot. 

“Shit! It’s the Ghost!” The slaver shoved the little girl towards Fenris, and tried to bolt in one direction while the buyer fled into the other. It happened so fast, like a flash of lightning. Fenris grasped the slaver by his neck, and hurtled him into the side of a building with a sickening thud. He only stopped his assault long enough to smash the lock on the cage, to set the boy free, and turned his attention back towards his prey. 

The children ran, launching themselves at Echo, who was the only safe haven they could see in sight. Little hands clutched at her tunic, and the two children broke down, trembling against her. Her arms instinctively wrapped around them, pulling them tightly towards her, and she shielded their face from the fight. Tears seeped through her shirt, and she counted each one that fell. It made the rage inside of her reach new heights, and the only thing that could quench it was watching Fenris give that bastard exactly what he deserved. From a distance, she heard the buyer’s shriek echo down towards her and Isabella’s taunting laugh. 

Violence was nothing she had ever thought she would take pleasure in, but seeing this sick men met a painfully end soothed the dark feeling inside of her. Angry tears scalding rolled down her cheeks, her eyes unblinking as she watched Fenris rip the slaver’s heart out and crush it in the palm of his hand. Taking in a shaky breath, she whispered, her voice trembled with the power of her emotions, “It okay. It be okay.” 

Fenris turned towards them, blood splattered on his chin and the slaver dead at his feet. That bitterness, the angry cynical smolder in his eyes, softened at the sight of the frightened children and at the tears rolling down Echo’s face. 

“Well, that was something,” Isabella said, her nonchalant tone undermined by an angry edge on her face. She slid her daggers back into their sheaths, and walked forward. It took her a moment, but she managed to compose herself. She walked over to where Echo stood with the two children; still holding onto her like their lives depended on it. “Now, now, sweet things, dry your eyes. The bad men are gone,” Isabella said, with a surprisingly gentleness. “They aren’t going to hurt you anymore.” 

The little boy still held his face buried in Echo’s face, hidden, but the girl lifted her head, peering at Isabella. “Y-you promise?” The girl’s voice was a whisper. 

“I promise,” Isabella said, readily. 

The little girl hesitated, unsure. “What about him?” She asked, talking about Fenris. He killed the bad man, but he was scary. 

“He is good,” Echo said, brushing a hand through the child’s hair like her mother used to do for her when she had a nightmare. “He stopped the bad man.” 

“Yep, Fenris isn’t bad,” Isabella added. “Just prickly.” 

Fenris snorted, lightly. He composed his expression into a light, and took a slow step toward the children to not further scare them. “Can you tell me, little one, if there are more of you?” 

The little boy perked up slightly. “Can you help them like you helped us?” He asked, rubbing his snot of the sleeve of his dirty shirt. 

“Yes,” Fenris said. 

The little girl was not so easily swayed. She looked Fenris right in the face, and demanded, “No. You have to promise.” 

Fenris’s lips curved slightly. “I promise.” 

* * *

Isabella had bribed the barkeep at the Hanged Man to allow the children to stay in Varric’s room. No one messed with the dwarf’s room, and the children would be safe there because no one in that bar dared to go against Isabella. Edith had promised to keep an eye on the children, and gave them a much needed meal. In hindsight, Echo probably should have stayed behind as well. Fenris even said as much, but she hadn’t listened. There was a part of her that needed to see this through. Maybe she was being stubborn, she didn’t know. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps as she fought to keep up with the brisk pace that Isabella and Fenris set as they hurried down towards the dock. 

Fenris had said they had no time to get Aveline. With a bounty of fifty slaves to sell, the slavers would move quickly and they had to go now. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, Echo’s hands were clenched into knuckle white fists at her sides and her jaw clenched so tight that her teeth began to go numb. Fear prickled along her scalp, Echo only hoped that they reached the warehouse in time. They had drugged the food, so the slaves would pass out, and not know where exactly they had been moved from. The little elf girl had realized the food was bad, and had stashed it underneath her cot, pretending to be asleep when the slaver came and got her. She was able to point them down to a warehouse on the western side of the docks, just beyond the condemn area that used to be the qunari hold. 

Moonlight spilt down from heavens, casting the docks in light and shadows in equal measure, and Echo felt unease skirt down her spine. The hot brand of shock from seeing those men killed was creeping up on her, and turning her mind to mush. She bit the inside of her cheek, the sharpness of pain helped to push through haze and focus putting one foot in front of the other. 

Isabella held up her hand, gesturing for them to use the corner as cover. Fenris pressed his back against the cold stone wall, and Echo followed suit as they both watched Isabella poke her head around the corner. “Yep. That’s definitely our place. Two slavers at the door,” she said, scrutinizing the guards carefully. “I know that place. When I had my ship we would smuggle goods from Antiva here because the building obscures the view of where the ship docked. Unless someone got nosy we usually had not troubles.” 

“Does your reminiscing have a point?” Fenris asked, sharply. 

“I’m getting to it!” Isabella gave him a glare. 

“Children,” Echo said, with a glower tossed at them out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t believe they were nitpicking at each other at a time like this. “Bad men hurting people. Need to be stopped, remember?” She reminded them, tartly. 

Both of them had the decency to look chastised. Isabella released a sigh, rolling the tension from her shoulders and glanced back at the warehouse. “There is another way to get into the warehouse. There is a stock room that is closed off from the main area. In that room, there is a small opening that allows for boats to come and go. We can use that to get in, but it means we are going to get wet.” 

“Hmph.” Fenris ran a hand along his jaw. “It’s either that or storm through the front.” 

“Not the front,” Echo gave a vehement shake of her head. Her shaky fingers trembled along her thigh, and her palm was slick with sweat. “Commotion make slavers jumpy. Hurt people.” 

“I agree,” Fenris gave a slight nod. “Your way it is, Isabella.” 

“Not the context that I had hoped to hear those words, but alas,” Isabella said, with a half smirk. She led them towards their destination, using the shadows to guide them unseen. 

“This is the only context you’ll ever hear them from me,” Fenris told her, in a hissed whisper. He had constantly to fend off Isabella’s flirting and propositions. He had a nagging feeling the woman knew about him and Hawke’s night together, and only made such comments to rile them both since they were avoiding the subject. 

Isabella chuckled, lowly. “Here we are. Better be careful, elf boy. Don’t want that sword to drag you down, and drown you,” the pirate said, tossing him a look over her shoulder. 

Fenris just grumbled unflattering things underneath his breath. 

“You two,” Echo rolled her eyes towards the heavens as if asking them silently to grant her the patience to deal with them, and then stepped down the stairs, sinking into the water. The sea was dark, and still, and the piercing scent of salt seared up her nose. Her face wrinkled at the thought of what else was in these waters, but she swam after Isabella and Fenris nonetheless. 

Just as Isabella had promised there was an opening to the building, and Isabella dove beneath the surface of the waters. She disappeared for several moments, long enough for Echo to become worried before she popped back up, and said, “Come on. Way is cleared now.” 

Fenris and Echo shared a quick glance before they swam over. A single torch illuminated the room, and the man that laid on the edge of the floor with a dagger in his back, an arm dangling down into the water. Isabella reached up, placing her palms flat against the floor, and hauled herself out of the water with ease. Fenris followed suit, with minor struggle due to his arm and he turned around to help Echo climb out of the water. 

Echo murmured a quick thanks, and Fenris snatched his hand away fast. His lyrium brands crackled slightly, and she knew it was due to his aversion to touch. Only a blind person would be unable to see how Fenris didn’t like touching, or being touched. Her eyes darted the room, that was filled with clutter almost as high as the ceiling. Everything from imported goods to weapons to rather suspicious looking relics that made Echo tingled uncomfortably. 

Isabella pulled her dagger out of the body with a sickening squelch, and wiped the blood off of the man’s back. “Remind me to have a few people come down here and liberate a few things are we deal with the slavers,” the pirate commented, with an idle tone. “It’d be such a shame if all this Antivan wine went to waste.” 

“Right,” Echo drawled out, with an eyebrow ticked upward. “A shame.” 

Isabella gave a shameless grin. 

“Let us return to the matter at hand, shall we?” Fenris commented, dryly. “The child claimed there were nearly fifty slaves being transported out of here tonight. Such a bounty will be guarded fiercely so we must not allow them to gain any advantage against us.” 

“Spoil sport,” Isabella accused, lightly. “Alright. Fine. You charge in, get there attention, and I will sneak forward, picking off as many as I can before I get noticed. Sound like a plan?” 

“Yes,” Fenris nodded. 

They all ducked down, and Isabella pulled open the door, soundlessly. Echo honestly did not know how for the hinges looked old and rusty like they must surely creak, but somehow the pirate was always able to make them silent. If she did not know Isabella wasn’t a mage, she’d suspect some kind of magic. A line of barrels blocked them from immediate view, and she heard a few slavers calling bets about a game. A few even had their weapons perched out of reach, clearly thinking that they were not going to have an ounce of trouble. 

“Stay here,” Fenris ordered, darkly. 

Echo didn’t argue. Her fingers clasped at the barrel that shielded from her sight, and watched as Fenris and Isabella launched an attack. Their approaches were like night and day. Fenris gave a shout as he blasted forward, in a burst of light and all the slavers jumped to alert. All of them charged against the visible enemy, and Isabella took advantage of this. Her dagger drawn across the throat of one enemy, his body dropped to the ground, and his comrades hadn’t even noticed. It was until she had taken out two more before the slavers realized that the renegade elf was not alone. 

Echo’s heart thumped against her ribcage, and her eyes darted to the large cages that were filled to excess with mostly elves. There were a few humans. There were covered in filth, and looked severely starved. Desperate hope was written upon their faces as they watched Fenris and Isabella fight the slavers, and Echo’s hand slid down over her pocket. The one item that Varric told her to always carry rested heavy there, and a knot surged against the back of her throat. 

A lockpick. 

Her eyes flickered to the lock that sealed the cage tightly, and then glanced back at the fight. The slavers seemed distracted enough. Surely she had enough time to pick the lock, and let the slaves run. She had a split second to make the decision, and after a heartbeat, she darted across the dusty floor towards the cage. “Quiet,” she whispered, when the slaves jumped at the sight of her. “Stay quiet.” 

“Quiet,” an elderly elf ordered, in a hushed tone. It held authority and cut off the gasps and shouts before they could be uttered. His eyes flickered back towards her, the green ivory of Mythal’s branches branded upon his face, and he whispered, “Please hurry.” 

Echo swallowed the knot in her throat, and nodded. With a trembling hand, she pulled her lockpick out of her pocket. In one hand, she held the padlock and the other she slid the lockpick inside. Varric told her a lock was like a woman, much to her amusement, and one had to take care when trying to unlock it. Rushed or harsh movement will be rebuffed. Gentle and careful rotation, Echo gnawed on her lower lip feeling the lock give one click. Sweat dotted across her head, Echo had ceased to breath all together when the second click was heard. “One more, and you’ll be free,” she promised, her voice tight. 

The old elf opened his mouth to say one thing when his gaze jerked from her to something behind her. Panic flashed across his face, and he shouted, “Behind you!” 

Echo’s fingers slipped off her lockpick, and the lock clattered against the cage when a giant hand wrapped around her throat. The pressure of the grip was one of the most painful things Echo had ever experienced, and her hands grasped at the abusing hand, clawing with nails. It was not use against the cold, steel gauntlet and she was lifted off the ground like she weighed little more than a sack of flower, then was flung to the side. 

Her back slammed into pile of crates, before gravity pulled her down to meet the floor. Mind numbing pain shot up her spine to coil at the base of her skull, and her eyes throbbed as black dots clouded up her vision. She dimly heard the screams of warning before a weight straddled her hips, and hands wrapped around her throat tightly. She didn’t know why he didn’t use his weapon. Maybe he was just sadistic, and wanted to feel the life squeeze the life out of her. 

“Knife eared cunt!” He growled, spittle flying out of his mouth. 

Sharp and intense fear sunk into her heart like a knife, and Echo thrashed, with everything she had. She may have been many things in her life, but she is not a coward that would go down without a fight. The man lifted her head off the ground an inch before he slammed it harshly back down, sending star burst behind her eyelids. Her lungs burned in her chest, screaming for air that no matter how hard she fought was denied to her by the slaver’s hands. Her mind raced, and her eyes darted all around her for something. Anything to save her life. 

Her legs kicked out, knocking over a nearby barrel and a rusty metal spade clattered to the floor. Her eyes stared at the spade, and she knew she had to get a hold of it. Her hand moved from the hand around her throat, and clapped against the ground, in search of it. The man repeated, bring her up off the ground and slammed her back down, with a sick grin on his face. It took her seconds—several precious seconds—until her hand grasped the spade. Shifting the handle into her palm, her other hand reached up and she plunged her fingers right through the visor of his helmet, stabbing him in the eye. The man gave a curse, leaning back away from her, and his grip loosened slightly. 

And Echo plunged the spade right into the vulnerable space between his arm, and twisted it viciously up into his gut. The man’s hands slipped off her neck in shock, and she kept pushing the spade deeper and deeper. A waterfall of blood slid out from underneath his armor, and it wasn’t like the horror movies made it out to be. It was bright, red, and soaked into her shirt. Her eyes stared up at the man’s face, and watched those eyes building with shock suddenly slump down. His mouth fell agape, and blood trickled down the corner before his body collapsed backwards. 

The sound of haggard breaths escaped her, and Echo scrambled away from the body. It was too much. It was just too much. Too much pain. Too much fear. Too much. The spade was clutched tight in the palm of her hand, and she raised her gaze to the two slavers that were coming to their buddies rescue. Something inside her cracked, and suddenly her magic swirled around her like a hurricane. Lightning crackled across her skin as an icy wind whipped her hair around her face and her eyes glowed with the primal flame of rage. Drenched in a dead man’s blood, and literally one step away from losing control of her magic entirely made the two slavers flee in the other direction. 

Not that they got far. Fenris cut them down before they could make it towards the door, and the elf released a deep breath before his eyes flickered towards her. He went slacked jaw at the sight of her, and then his expression hardened. 

Maybe he thought she was an abomination. 

She certainly felt like one. The powerful emotions that burned inside of her heart was pushing her towards something; an edge of some sort, and it was one that she knew she could _not_ plunge over. But now that her magic had been unleashed her, she didn’t know how to pull it back in. She didn’t know if there was any stopping it. Her body was lit up like a Christmas tree, and her heart shuddered inside of her chest as she reached out with a shaky hand. A plea for help was on her lips, but the words were strangled by the ache in the back of her throat. 

Isabella rushed over, her dusky skin turning a dull shade as all the blood ran out of her face. “Echo,” the pirate said, her tone placating. She held up her hands, and approached with the caution as if approaching a wild animal. 

God, she _was_ like a wild animal. Vicious, hurt, and wanted to lash out. It hadn’t been enough. Killing the slaver hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t soothed the hurt, the fear, but only had made it worse. Even though she had defended herself, she had taken a life. It struck something deep inside of her, and what was hit could not be fixed. A loss of innocence, and Echo stomach churned violently. 

There was a click that came from behind her, and the sound of metal hitting the ground. Frightened whispers reached her ears, and she craned her neck to peer over her shoulder at the slaves who huddled back in fear at the sight of her. There was a painful twist in her heart, and all the fight drained out of her like a balloon being popped. Her body slumped forward, and she would have hit the ground if Isabella had not caught her. Her magic dissipated from the air completely, leaving her drained and shaken. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, a sob wretched out from the depths of her soul. “I’m sorry.” 

Isabella said nothing. Her hand around Echo’s waist tighten slightly, while Fenris strode to the second cage, breaking the lock with a sharp swing of his sword. “Go! You are free,” he told the slaves, and he need not tell them twice. They rushed towards the door, and the warehouse was left empty, except for the three of them in under a minute. 

Echo looked down at her feet, feeling strangely detached. 

“Echo,” Fenris said her name. 

Echo lifted her head, and stared at him with tear-filled eyes. The hard planes of his face softened slightly at something he saw there, and he looked away. “It will be alright,” he promised, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

Echo felt her chin wobble, and she fought against the urge to break down a weep like a newborn baby. Her skin felt ice cold and nerveless and she leaned greatly on Isabella for support because she did not feel like she could keep herself standing without it. 

“If the Void exists, I hope the bastards are rotting there,” Isabella said, her eyes lingered on the broken bodies of the abused and dead that were crammed into the back of the cages. Skin as pale as death with black cuts along the ribs, and bruises in the shape of hands prints along their thighs. It was obvious the other slaves had tried to heal them, but it was no use in such dismal conditions. Infection or internal wounds that could not be treated had claimed them most likely. “I wish we could bring them back just to kill them again.” 

Echo glanced up at Isabella’s face, a mute confusion before she followed the pirate’s gaze. 

“Don’t look,” Fenris warned, but it was too late. 

Echo looked, and then vomited all over the ground. 

* * *

Needless to say things did not go as Isabella planned, and any attempt at keeping it hidden pretty much went up in smoke when she returned to the Hanged Man to retrieve the children and take them to Aveline only to find that Garrett and Varric had returned earlier. A pesky storm had driven them back down the mountain, and Isabella felt an invisible tightened around her neck when Hawke looked away from the children happily chatting with Varric to the very much guilty pirate. 

“Something you want to confess, Isabella?” Garrett folded his arms over his chest, and gave her the _look_. Not his usual humorous and charming look. The same look he had pinned at the Arishok when he chosen to duel him, instead of having Isabella over to the qunari. 

_Oh, shit,_ the pirate thought. 

* * *


	2. Crick, Crack, Snip, Snap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark dreams of failure haunt Hawke, and threaten to send him spiraling down into a pit of despair. Echo Harper is there to help pull out of it before he can do something he’ll regret, and gives him a push in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline:   
> 9:31 Dragon--Carver becomes a Templar.  
> 9:33 Dragon--Bethany surrendered herself to the Circle.  
> 9:35 Dragon--Bethany is made Tranquil.  
> 9:35 Dragon--Hawke and Fenris’s night of passion.  
> 9:35 Dragon--Hawke fights the Arishok.  
> 9:36 Dragon--Echo awakens in Thedas, and is found by Hawke.  
> 9:36 Dragon (on the eve of the new year)--Leandra is killed by the bloodmage.

Crick, Crack, Snip, Snap 

By ThroughtheMirrorDarkly 

Side Stories in the “Marked and Branded” Series” 

* * *

_Crick, crack._

_Snip, snap._

Phantoms sounds of bones broken, and skin torn rang in Hawke’s ears as clear as the day they happened. His eyes were closed, and the bottle held tightly in his knuckle white grip. The weight of regrets had finally crumbled his carefully constructed walls, and he struggled to find a way to build them back. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he drank heavily and savored the harsh burn of whiskey that trickled down the back of his throat. The flush that rose to his cheeks, and the roar in his ears almost dulled out the world around him completely. Almost. 

_Crick, crack._

_Snip, snap._

Images of the orge snatching up his brother, and he remembered how Carver looked little more than toy to the beast. He remembered how it brought Carver down against the ground, like a child in a temper tantrum. He remembered the echo of the crack of the bones. He remembered the vivid color of blood, and the stain that was left on the ground by the end of it. He remembered his mother’s screams, and Bethany’s tears as she fought to heal her twin. He remembered the relief when Carver survived. He remembered the guilt in knowing that Carver would forever be scarred. He remembered the silvery web like scars that crisscross across Carver’s face as surely as he remembered having to cut off his brother right arm because there was no saving it after the attack. The attack had changed Carver. Where he had been slightly bitter at being stuck his big brother’s shadow, had been replaced by a dark, anger and hatred. Within the end of their first year at Kirkwall, Carver had ran straight into the arms of the templars and never looked back. 

_Crick, crack._

_Snip, snap._

Bethany faced uncertainty in Kirkwall. She was always worried of causing them all trouble, and when Carver had joined the templars, she had spent restless nights in cold sweat. None of them knew what Carver would do. He had been angry and withdrawn, and it killed Bethany to think badly of her twin. In the end, that uncertainty made her surrender herself to the Circle. The day he returned to from the Deep Roads Expedition was one that was branded in his memory when he walked home with the means to finally keep them safe, only to find Cullen and Carver there to escort Bethany to the Circle. He had hoped that Carver would be able to protect her, and then he remembered the day that he made his way to Gallows to visit Bethany. He remembered finding her a painting. He remembered how he snuck up on her. He covered her eyes, just like he had done when they were children and told her to guess who. 

He remembered the flatness of her voice. He remembered how his heart seized in his chest, and he remembered the deadness of her eyes when she turned around. He remembered the _brand_ —the sunburst brand—on her forehead, and he remembered pulling Bethany up to the Knight-Captain. When he demanded an explanation, Cullen couldn’t give him one. Cullen seemed just as horrified to discover what happened. He remembered hearing as he stormed away, Cullen whisper, “She passed her harrowing. This cannot be. She _passed_ her harrowing…” 

_Crick, crack._

_Snip, snap._

He remembered the burning rage and guilt that had enveloped him had nearly sent him over the edge. He had contemplated blood magic that day, and had been a breath away from committing it. He remembered in the dead of night when the Knight-Captain came to his door, and informed him that Ser Alrik was responsible. He also told Hawke that he had investigated and found evidence that Ser Alrik had committed many atrocities, and not just to Bethany. Hawke bitterly stated Meredith would never see justice done, and Cullen said it was out of her hands. The Viscount had been notified by what happened, and the nobles—some who had children in the Circle—demanded Ser Alrik to be hanged until dead. Meredith could not ignore that. Unable to hide behind his Sword of Mercy shield any longer, Ser Alrik had fled and Cullen had been ordered to track him down to bring him back to the Gallows. 

Cullen also told him that if something happened to Ser Alrik before he could bring him to justice, no one would shed a tear over it. It was the first time Hawke truly respected the other man. No matter his prejudice, he had put them aside to find justice for his sister and to give Hawke the vengeance he sorely needed. He had been on the hunt for blood that night, and he found Ser Alrik hiding in a warehouse. Carver had been waiting outside. Hawke remembered the horrible pain in Carver’s eyes, and they went inside together. They had made Ser Alrik _pay_ , and Hawke prayed to the Maker--a thing he seldom did--to make sure that Ser Alrik continued to pay in whatever afterlife awaited him. Carver gave him no parting words, and left after the deed was finished. 

It was a week later that he heard news that Carver had left the Templars and Kirkwall all together. Where he ended up, Hawke could not say. None of his contact heard a peep from his brother. In the end, vengeance couldn’t change that Bethany was Tranquil, but it had saved Hawke from jumping off the edge straight into the blackest of abysses. 

But now he had neither vengeance, nor anger. He remembered the deathly pale pallor to his mother’s face. He remembered the stitches that sewed jigsaw pieces of skin together, and the horror of realizing what the madman had done to his mother. It was so much worse than he had imagined, and he fought so hard to save her. In the end, she died in his arms with whispers about how proud of him she was. _Proud of what?_ He thought, bitterly. _After all I have given to save my family, to protect them, and it is never enough…what is there to be proud of?_

He was thinking too much. About things he didn’t want to. He lifted the bottle, but before he could put it to his lips, a hand covered his stilling the movement. His blurry gaze looked upward until he could make those two different colored eyes staring down at him with such sorrow and understanding it made his heart hurt. “Echo, leave,” he said, harshly. He didn’t want company for his breakdown, but Echo did not budge an inch. Slowly, his face crumbled and the ache of tears stung in his eyes. “Please, just leave.” 

She smiled at him, her lips trembled. She tugged the bottle free from his hand, and his hand dropped lifelessly into his lap. “I can’t do that,” she whispered, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair. A small, tiny comfort that she could give, and then she turned to set the bottle on the table. 

“Why not?” whispered Hawke. 

She leveled a look at him. “You know why.” 

Hawke let hollow laugh fell off his tongue. “You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care,” he told her, shaking his hand. He could feel oblivion creeping in around the edges of his vision, and he knew he would pass out any given second. 

“Why not?” She parroted his words back at him. 

“Anyone who cares, who gets close…ends up killed,” Hawke slurred, miserably. His eyes were leaking, and it was terribly annoying. “Don’t get too close…” And as soon as the warning was given, his world went jet black. 

* * *

Hawke awoke, his head aching and his heart hollow. 

He was alive, so he supposed that was a good sign, and the pain from last night had faded into the foggy background of his mind. He didn’t allow himself to forget it because it would surely seize upon him, at a moment’s notice. It would grasp him like dark hands in the churning sea, and would drag him down into the dark depths to drown in his despair. He heard movement near him, and he felt fingertips ghost across his temple. He nearly gave an obscene moan when healing magic poured into his skull, easing the migraine. It did not do away with his hangover, but made it bearable so he open his eyes to peer up at Echo. She looked tired as if she had stayed up all night, and she probably had to take care of his drunk ass. “Mor’in,” he slurred, his tongue dry and felt awkward in his mouth. 

“Morning,” Echo replied, lightly. “Sit up?” 

Hawke nodded, shoving himself into a seated position on the couch though it took him a couple of tried to accomplish it. He found a warm cup of tea pressed into the palm of his hand, and he lifted it to his nose. He smelt the tea leaves, and a hint of a chamomile. It was a rather flowery drink compared to what he normally drunk, but it would sooth his seething stomach, and most likely help with the remainder of his hangover. He gingerly sipped on the hot tea, his eyes roamed the house--his mother’s childhood home--and failure gnawed at his gut. As he suspected, the pain was just biding it’s time and his throat suddenly felt painfully tight. His heart was too heavy for words, and was grateful that Echo did not push for them. Instead, she allowed him to soak up each precious moment of silence he had because he was sure that letters and visits would not give him such later on in the day. 

He sat the tea cup on the table not too gently, and slumped in place. “How did you know this was exactly what I needed?” Hawke sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. His eyes were cast up towards the ceiling, but he wasn’t really seeing it. His heart felt twisted up too tight in his chest, and he couldn’t breath. 

Echo stared at him, sorrowfully. She didn’t offer any words of comfort, or share similar experiences, if she had any. Instead, she took his hand in hers and gently ran her fingers across the scars on his knuckles. “You’re my friend,” she said, as if that explained everything. She hummed a light song underneath her breath as she started to massage the tension from his hand, and Hawke sank slightly into her side. “Fenris here earlier. Told him you were sleeping. Think he is hiding outside, waiting.” 

Hawke groaned. He and Fenris had barely spoken since their night of passion where they both had given into the torrent of emotions that had building ever since they had met. What did he say to the man who he had given his heart to only for the elf to stomp right on as he walked right out of the door? “Why is he here?” He asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral. 

“He is concerned,” Echo told him. 

“Hmph.” 

“Hawke, sulking not good on you,” she chided him, her tone light. Her fingertips massaged the palm of his hand, and Hawke found himself relaxing more into the couch. 

“I’m not sulking,” he denied, a slight pout. The banter between them was easy to fall into, and it gave him a much needed distraction. 

Echo smiled, indulgently. “Fenris still likes you. Likes you a lot.” 

Hawke didn’t want to talk about Fenris. He already felt at the bottom of the barrel, scrapping and clawing at it with his fingernails. He already didn’t know how to handle his grief over his mother’s death, and he couldn’t add into the messy relationship—if one night could be called that—he had with Fenris. “Well, lately, he seems to like Isabella a lot, too,” Hawke snapped, bitterly. “It’s not anything special.” 

Echo’s smile fell. She looked bewildered, then understanding settled onto her features as she struggled not to smile or laugh. 

“What?” Hawke’s eyes narrowed. 

“Isabella that way with everyone,” Echo giggled, pressing her fingers to her lips. She let out another laugh before she managed to speak clearly. “She knows Fenris likes you. She knows you two…” She trailed off, but the mischievous wiggle of her eyebrow was all that needed to be said. 

“Isabella _knows_?” Hawke said, suitably horrified. 

Echo nodded, with a light laugh. “All us know.” 

“Everyone know that something happened between Fenris and I?” Hawke’s voice rose to an octave that should be impossible for a fully grown male to reach. 

“Bets made,” Echo confirmed. 

Embarassment flooded through him like a teenage boy caught with his hands down his pants by the Revered Mother, and even though he argued in his mind that he was a grown man able to do whatever he wanted did not lessen it. Two hot red spots appeared on his cheeks, and he ran his hands down his face. “All of you placed bets on us?” 

“Yep,” Echo grinned. “We ship it.” 

“Ship it? Ship what?” Hawke looked confused. 

Echo laughed, merrily. Again, she looked at him like she knew the punch line to a joke that went over his head, and left him no explanation. “We happy for you,” she told him. “Want you two happy.” 

The black mood that had been pushed to the back of his mind resurfaced with a memory of his mother taking his hand, and telling him that she was happy that he had found someone. That she was glad that he the happiness that she had with his father, and Hawke felt a coldness settle into him bone deep. 

Echo immediately sensed something was off. The teasing smile slipped off her face, and she sat up a little straighter. “Hawke,” she said, with concern on her face as clear as day. 

He swallowed the knot in his throat as easily as one could a lump of burning coal, and he leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. His chest shuddered with repressed sobs, and became keenly aware of the ache deep within his soul once more. “Her last words…were about how _proud_ of me she was,” he spoke, his voice barely more than a sigh. He watched the flames lick around the wood in the fireplace, slowly consuming them as surely as he felt his emotions were consuming him. “What is there for her to be proud of? I have failed everyone I care about.” 

“Not me,” Echo said, softly. “Not Varric. Not Aveline. Not Fenris. Not Merrill. Not Anders. Not Isabella.” 

“Echo,” Hawke breathed out. 

Echo reached out, gently cupping his face between her two hands and leaned her forehead against his. “Hawke is strong. Hawke is kind. Hawke is hero,” she told him, her voice laced with warning if he dared to deny this that there would be severe consequences. Her eyes bored into his with a fierceness, and she asked, sternly, “Why Leandra not be proud of Hawke?” 

His voice felt constricted in his throat. “Don’t…don’t call me that. I’m not a hero, Echo,” he uttered, his eyes closed tightly shut. Her words hit him square in his heart like an arrow into the center of target, and his hands clenched into fists in his lap. 

“You are to me. You are to city. Bad things…” Her nose wrinkled adorably as she struggled to search for the right word. “Bad things _happen_. Can’t stop them. Have to live with it. It hurts. It always hurts, but bad things not stop good things. Good things happen, too. Have to have bad times to know the good times.” 

Hawke placed his hands over hers, and squeezed them lightly before he pulled them off his face. “I want to believe that, but these bad times—as you put it—have lasted a long time. I don’t know how much longer I can stand to wait on the good,” he said, his voice jagged and crack as he struggled to maintain his composure. 

She didn’t understand every word, but she understood enough. Her expression broke, and she pulled him into a tight hug. Hawke didn’t fight it because honestly he needed it. He needed it like a ship needed an anchor in the midst of a storm, and he wrapped his arms around her holding just as tightly. His face pressed into her shoulder, and if she felt the tears that soaked into the fabric of her tunic, she made no mention of it. Neither would he. 

“Messer Hawke, you have a visitor,” was all the warning they received from Bodhan before Fenris came storming into the foyer. 

“Hawke, we had not seen you in a few days, and we were…” Fenris cut off as he saw Hawke and Echo break their hug. He appeared frozen like a statue, unblinking and unmoving. His shoulder rose with a great breath, and looked down at his feet before he raised his gaze. Those green eyes were pinned on Hawke and Echo’s still entwined hands, and a coldness settled over the white haired elf. “We were worried. I came to see all was well, but I shall take my leave if I have interrupted something?” 

“Just talking. Hawke being idiot,” Echo said, pulling her hands free from Hawke’s. “Fix him now.” 

The frostiness in Fenris’s demeanor melted ever so slightly. “I would if I could, but I fear that is no simple task,” he stated, with an eyebrow arched. His green eyes pulled from Echo and finally latched onto Hawke’s. 

Maker help him. Those deep emerald eyes always stole his words, and breath. What Hawke wouldn’t give to see them alit with the same fire and passion they had been on that perfect night. Void, what he wouldn’t give to have Fenris stare at him with the open tenderness, and hold him tight as if he’d never let go. He needed that more than anything, but he had to swallow it down. “Ah, great. Make fun of Hawke time,” Hawke said, sarcastically. “I was just thinking to myself what would make this day more complete, and here you are kicking a man when his down and suffering a hangover.” 

“Drink more tea,” Echo stated, without batting an eye. 

“Make me more then,” Hawke sassed. 

Echo smirked. “Could poison it.” 

“I’ll risk it,” Hawke said, without batting an eye. 

“Fine,” Echo snorted, with a fond shake of her head. She patted his shoulder before she rose off of the couch, and she tossed Fenris a quick smile before she picked up the tea cup from the table then headed out of the room. 

An awkward silence fell over the two of them. Neither one of them would look at the other, and finally Fenris cleared his throat. “I’d take care not to taunt her too much Hawke,” he intoned, the corner of his mouth lifted weakly. “One day, you might actually find poison in your tea.” 

“Possibly, but if so, it won’t be the lethal kind,” Hawke replied, quickly. He felt like a teenager, awkwardly fumbling for the right subject to bring up to his long time sweetheart. Maker, he was miserable and fool. “She might like to get her revenge in mischievous ways, but she loves me enough to not want me dead.” 

A shadow flickered in the tattooed elf’s gaze. “Ah. Yes, well,” he said, rather awkwardly. His eyes looked everywhere, but at Hawke, his throat bobbing. “I did not mean to barge in without invitations, but I wished to see you were well with my own eyes. Now that I have…” Those green eyes lingered a second longer than they should upon Hawke, and Fenris swallowed thickly. “Now that I have I shall take my leave.” 

His brows drew together as he stared up at Fenris, and frowned, deeply. He could feel Fenris pull away from him, building walls to keep him out, and it stabbed at his gut without mercy. “Ah, busy day?” Hawke asked, with a half laugh. 

“Yes,” Fenris said, but did not elaborate on what that day entailed. 

_Stay,_ Hawke begged Fenris inside his mind. The words that he could not give life to outloud, and his deep honeyed eyes just stared at Fenris as if to try and magic will him to hear them. _Forget your damn plans. I’ll forget any I have if you would just stay. Please…stay._

But Fenris was no mind reader. Instead, the white haired elf inhaled deeply, and seemed to steel himself against some inner battle. His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment. “I’m glad that you are well, Hawke,” Fenris said, his voice pitched low. He pulled his green eyes open, and gave Hawke one last look over. “Please, make sure it stays that way.” 

Then he turned, and left before Hawke could even reply. 

Echo came back about a couple of minutes later with a fresh cup of tea, steam rising up from it, and she paused in step, casting a bemused look around the room. “Where Fenris?” Echo asked, blinking. 

“He left,” Hawke said, expressionlessly. 

A scowl settled over Echo’s features, and she shoved his cup of tea towards him with enough force that it sloshed over the rim. “Take it back. Hawke not just idiot. Fenris idiot, too,” she said, with a disgusted shake of her head. Squaring her shoulders, Echo strode towards the front door and told Hawke, “I’ll be back.” 

“Be back? Echo, what are you doing?” Hawke started to rise up off the couch, only to have Echo whirl around and shove him back down with surprising force. His mouth dropped open, shocked. 

“Don’t worry. Drink tea,” she said, instead of offering explanation. “Stupid, stubborn males. Leaving women to fix everything,” he heard her say underneath her breath, after she rounded the corner and out of sight. 

Hawke felt an anxious feeling spread through his belly, and he looked down at the tea in his hand with speculative look on his face. “She is going to do something,” said Hawke, with an unsettled frown, “and I’m honestly afraid of what.” 

He sat there for a long moment, before he drunk the tea. If it was merely tea, it would sooth his hangover. If it was poisoned, well, hopefully it would put him out of his misery before whatever plan Echo had backfired. 

* * *

Days had passed, and Hawke continued forward. He did not know what else he could do. People offered condolences, and it took every urge in him not to snap at them, because he didn’t want them. _Oh, Leandra was such a wonderful woman,_ they would say to him with pitying looks, and Hawke just wanted to scream. He knew his mother was a wonderful woman. For Maker’s sake, she was _his_ mother! He had tried to write Carver a letter, but every time he picked up the quill, he fingers shook. Finally, Varric offered to do it, and Hawke was more than happy to hand it over to him. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Carver. He didn’t know what he should say. _Sorry_ , was the first thing that came to mind. He walked up the stairs, each step took every ounce of his courage, and all too soon he was at the top of the stairs. One look to the left, and he would see his mother’s bedroom door, and the pain would hit him all over again if he dared to look. His heart in his throat, he kept his eyes forward, and briskly walked into his room. He slammed the door behind him, and he pressed his back against it. 

His eyes were clenched closed, painfully tight against the fresh wave of tears that threatened him to consume. He had lost so much. He had lost too much, and he was tired of spilling tears over things he couldn’t change. Then the air in the room shifted, and he swallowed thickly. He knew Fenris was in his room even before he announced his presence. His whole body was attuned to him, the fine hairs on his body standing on end. 

Fenris’s eyes lingered on Garrett’s just a little longer than he’d thought they would given the elf hadn’t spoken since their night of passion. His heart still ached to see him. Garrett had allowed the elf past the walls he had erected only to have him run out after the best night of his life, and left Garrett’s heart was in ruins. “Hawke, I apologize for loitering here in your room, but…” Fenris paused, uncharacteristically nervous. “Echo came to speak to me. After I came to check on you.” 

That made Hawke peel his eyes open, and he hated that his heart still jolted at the sight of Fenris. It probably always would, and absentmindedly rubbed the spot above his heart. “Echo? Talked to you?” Hawke frowned, slightly worried. “About what?” 

“About…us.” 

Hawke could have strangled her. “She did what?” 

“She…is of the mind that you still care for me,” Fenris said, his tone slightly bitter. He looked down at the floor, and then dragged a hand down his face. “I do not know why I am here. It is obvious that your affections lie elsewhere now. I was a fool for too long…” Sadness was etched onto this handsome face, and his green eyes filled with pain. 

It took Hawke a moment to find his tongue. “What are you talking about? My affections lay elsewhere?” His voice nearly rose to a shout, and he stared at Fenris in shock. Did the elf believe he had moved on? Had some misunderstanding kept him from coming to Hawke earlier? Is it why he had been so cold? So distant? Maker’s bloody nutsack, if so then he was adding Fenris on his list of people to strangle. 

“Hawke, please,” Fenris held up his hand, and shook his head, strands of silvery white hair falling into his eye line. “I am not blind. I see the way you look at her. How you treat her differently than you do others.” 

“Who?!” Hawke did shout now. 

“Echo,” Fenris snapped. 

Garrett made a noise like a dying cat. “You think I’m in love with Echo?” Garrett asked, his eyes widened in incredulity. He stared at the white haired elf like he couldn’t even believe what he was hearing, and his chest rose with a great, haggard breath. 

“I know it,” Fenris growled. “The way you protect her. The way you shelter her.” He started to pace the length of the floor, and his green eyes flickered all of the bedroom. Memories of their night of passion stirred in his mind, and his heart clenched painfully tight. “I do not fault you for it, Hawke. I can see how easily she is to love. She is…a good soul, a light in shadows. It’s why…it’s why I agreed to the farce Isabella proposed months ago because…Echo was important to you.” 

Garrett could have bashed his head in, or kissed the elf so thoroughly in that moment. His hands clenched at his sides, and he had to take in a calmly breath. “Fenris, you can be so obtuse at times,” said Hawke, roughly. “Yes, I care about Echo, but not in the way that you think. How can I even think about falling in love with someone else when I’m still so completely ruined from my night with you?” 

Fenris came to an abrupt halt, and his head shot up. His green eyes were wide, and his mouth was slightly agape. 

Hawke’s shoulders slumped. “Fenris, I know you protect Echo because you thought she was my heart, and I’m glad you want to keep her safe. But…you are my heart. It’s always been you, and it’s always going to be you,” the mage said, his voice strained with painful emotions that he had shoved down for so long. “Perhaps in another life I could have found myself with her, but…” A crease appeared in his brow as he thought about Echo. He could see himself falling in love with her in a different time, and different place. But that wasn’t how fate had played out this time around. Fate had placed a white haired broody elf smack dab right in his path, and his heart was completely Fenris’s long before Echo entered the picture. And he could not regret that for a second. “But that’s not this one. This is the one I have you, and I don’t regret it. I don’t regret our night, even if you do because at least…I had one perfect night with you. If I never get another, I’ll have that.” 

Fenris’s throat bobbed. His lips pressed in a thin, his green eyes swirled with emotions too great to name and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His greatest regret was that he fled that night from Hawke, and that he did not know how to mend the bridge between them. When Echo had entered their lives, Fenris felt that place in Hawke’s life had been stolen away, and he had tried to hate the other elf. Yet he could not do it. It had been his fault the crack had been there in the first place, and he had drunk himself into a stupor many times over it. To now know that Echo had not stolen Hawke’s heart, that it had all been in his hands all this time. He had been such a fool, and he had wasted so much time. 

“I love only you, Fenris,” whispered Hawke, with a soulful look. “I just wish you would let me show you. Let me prove to you, please.” 

They stood there, for a hot moment, heat sparking between them. The feelings they had for each other written plainly for the other to see, and Fenris let out a growl, a mixture of frustration and arousal. His green eyes watched Hawke warily, but his heart couldn’t resist and overcame his fears. He rushed forward until his body slide against Hawke’s, fitting together as neat as two pieces of a whole. The two of them slammed back against the door with a thunderous crack, but the pain was secondary to the wanton need that beat though their blood. Hands grasped at each other, clawing and desperate, each touch heightening the building pleasure like a volcano about to erupt. Their mouth moved together, hot and frantic, tasting each other. 

Pleasure so great, it ached, pulsed between them. It was too much, and yet not nearly enough. “Hawke, we can’t,” the elf grappled for composure, pulling his lips from the kiss. Hawke did falter, and ran his hot wet tongue raked across his lover’s ear and then nipped the very tip of it. Fenris’s hips jolted forward, rocking against Hawke’s thigh. Hawke’s own answering erecting thrust against his hip. “Not when I’m taking advantage of you in your grief.” 

“Fuck, Fenris,” Hawke hissed, pulling back. His right hand cupped Fenris’s jaw, and he peered into those fathomless green eyes. “I’ve wanted nothing more. Take advantage of me. Make me forget everything, but for Maker’s sake, stay with me after it is all said and done.” 

Fenris warred with his better half, but even as he did so, his fingers knotted into Hawke’s hair. “Yes,” he groaned, helpless to the torrent of emotions that burned through him, hotter than the lyrium branded into his skin. His mouth sealed back over Hawke’s, his hot and skilled tongue pressed in, and Hawke allowed him to take. Clothes and armor clattered to the floor without care as they made their way to their bed with haste, but the love making would not be over so swiftly. No, they had all night to get reacquainted with one another. 

* * *

Echo and Orana sat in the living room, playing Wicked Grace, when a loud crash made them both jump. They both looked up to the landing worriedly when a rather loud groan followed, and the creaking noise of a bed rocking. Orana’s face turned pink when it became apparently what the two were doing. A slow smirk spread across Echo’s face by centimeters, and she laid her cards down at the table with an eyebrow arched at the other elf. “Finally,” Echo said, extremely pleased by the turn of events. Echo knew that this wouldn’t erase Hawke’s pain over losing his mother, but having Fenris by his side, he could weather the storm a great deal better now. “Love when a plan comes together.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:   
> 1.) I know what you are thinking. My God, what the hell did you to Carver and Bethany? Though I hear less notable outrage on Carver’s behalf. I am sorry for attacking your feels so. It’s just the way the story unfolded in my head. I originally intended to do what happened in Dragon Age 2, canon wise for Mage Hawke. However, my niece pestered me about why couldn’t both Carver and Bethany survive. I know that many people wonder this, too. My thoughts, and it’s why I wrote it this way, is that even both of them survived that didn’t mean they would be one big happily family. Survival of tragic events has consequences, just as death does. However, that doesn’t mean there is no hope for the Hawke family. I’ve only just really started my “Marked and Branded” Series, and the Hawke family will be there.   
> 2.) Btw, Echo ships Fenris/Garrett like fedex. You know in another world, I think Garrett/Echo/Fenris could have totally happened, alas in the “Marked and Branded” series she is meant to be with Solas. Maybe I’ll do some one shot AUs. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> MAIN STORYLINE  
> 1.) Marked (completed) 1st in the series.  
> 2.) Branded (in progress) 2nd in the series.  
> 3.) Through the Ashes We Climb (in progress) 3rd in the series.  
> \--Branded and Through the Ashes We Climb overlap time wise.  
> 4.) *Title In Work* (planned) 4th in the series.  
> SIDE STORIES  
> 4.) These Thoughts of You (completed) Alistair thinks on his dead beloved. *current time*  
> 5.) A Queen’s Proposal (completed) Queen Anora needs a husband. *three years after the blight ended*  
> 6.) TALES FROM KIRKWALL  
> Stories complied together of Echo’s time in Kirkwall. Some snippets, some oneshots, some introspective.  
> Such Fragile Things (completed) Isabella takes Echo out on a night of debauchery that ends up landing them in hot water.  
> Snip, Snap, Crick, Crack (completed) *Set after Leandra’s death. Hawke centric with Fenris/Hawke and a helpful Echo*  
> 7.) Mythal’s Tears (planned) *Set after they reach Skyhold. Summary: Ashlinn and Echo come up with a plan to give the elves a new homeland, but the cost may be greater than they are willing to pay)  
> 8.) Marked and Branded AU One Shots (planned) *Smutty One Shots of Alternative Universe with characters from Marked and Branded such as Echo, Ashlinn, Mahanon, Marco, Catherine where the world put them on a different path. Basically just a reason to write some smut*  
> 9\. He Made Me Smile (completed) After Wynne's critisim over Ashlinn Cousland's relationship with Alistair, Ashlinn thinks hard about her life, and finds she cannot regret where she had ended up. (Set in DAO)  
> I have plans for other side stories, but so far this is what I have mapped out.


End file.
